Letters
by piperholmes
Summary: Another bit of Romelza fluff. Ross has something for Demelza, and she isn't sure she can rise to the challenge.


**Letters**

**By: piperholmes**

**A/N: Another short one shot that I posted on Tumblr. Set between episodes 4 and 5, just a glimpse into Ross and Demelza's life. Unbeta'd.**

**Letters**

"You have a letter."

Demelza nodded, not bothering to look up from the dough she was kneading. It was Jinny's half day, and besides, it felt good to work, to be up on her feet again. Over the last few weeks the symptoms of her pregnancy had gotten worse. She had struggled to get out of bed, fatigue weighing her down, and when Ross had found her one day doubled over the wood pile, heaving out what little breakfast she'd managed to get down, he'd wiped her face, ignored her protestations as he removed her dress and shift, exchanging it for one of his oversized shirts that she loved to sleep in and promptly tucked her back into bed. All complaints died on her lips as the welcoming softness of the bed enveloped her and she'd slept soundly until well into the afternoon. After that, Ross had been firm in his insistence that she not over tax herself, which Damelza naturally argued against, but secretly welcomed. Growing a baby provided as much work as it seemed her body could handle, and she'd allowed herself to rely on Jinny's help a bit more than she'd normally allow.

But then, only a few days previous, she'd awoken to find Ross staring at her, his brow furrowed.

"Ross?" she'd croaked out, her voice dry with sleep.

He'd glanced at her, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips, before looking down at her belly meaningfully. "It seems you've…." he struggled for a moment, wanting to find the right word. "…blossomed over night my love."

Her own brow gathered in confusion, until she looked down to where his eyes gazed and saw that, sure enough, the nearly indiscernible bump of their child had, as they slept, become strikingly more significant.

They'd laughed, the silly, giddy excited laugh of new parents experiencing the strange and thrilling delights of pregnancy, and Demelza had discovered that the ever choking sick feeling had lessened considerably and she'd felt renewed strength, the desire to do nothing but sleep gone, replaced with an almost burning desire to tackle anything and everything all at once.

Now, she stood, humming happily, reveling in the feeling of the dough thickening and shaping between her fingers, thoughts of how best to get the ash from the fire place out of the house so as to make a minimal amount of mess swirling about her mind.

Ross dropped the folded parchment on the table next to her and she could smell the cold still lingering on his coat as he leaned in to steal a kiss. He'd been to the mine that morning, as he was every morning, returning home for luncheon. They ate in the kitchen, it being warm and not wanting to bother with lighting the fires in the parlor until the evening, and she finished up with her dough before setting it aside to rise while her husband peeled off his coat, hanging it by the fire to warm.

She waited expectantly as she spooned up bowls of stew she'd left simmering since breakfast, eager to hear what Verity had written, since she was the only one to ever write to her, but instead Ross merely asked after Jud and Prudie.

"I've not seen 'em since I mentioned the flu needed cleanin'" Demelza told him. "Though I'spect once they re'lize luncheon is ready they'll turn up soon enough."

Ross' eyebrow went up in sardonic acknowledgment of her words. "I'll get one of the village boys up here to clean it."

She didn't bother to argue. She could only imagine the fit Ross would throw if she were to climb up there and clean it, as she would have, but she was mistress of Nampara now, with a little life dependent on her. How quickly her life had changed.

An easy silence stretched between them, their comfort in each others company having long since been established, until Demelza lost patience.

"Well?"

Ross looked up at her, his spoon paused just at his lips. "What?"

"The le'er?" she pressed, her exasperation more playful than serious. "'Ee readin' it to me or what?"

Ross grabbed the folded paper off the table, looking at it seriously, his brow low. "Hmm, doesn't seem to be addressed to me. It seems to be addressed to you."

"And?" she laughed, unsure of the game he was playing.

"Then I suppose I shouldn't be the one to read it," he answered softly, extending his arm across the table towards her, offering the letter.

Demelza's smile turned to a confused frown. "Ross," she chided, knowing she sounded a bit petulant. "I can't read it'on me own."

"You've been practicing your letters every day, very nearly filled up that book I bought you, you can do this," he renewed his efforts in handing her the letter, the firm set to his jaw that told her he wasn't to be moved.

Tossing down her spoon, she took it from him with a huff. "I don't know why ye think I be readin' Verity's le'er. She writes in that fancy squiggy way that makes all the le'ers look like your tangled curls."

Her angry muttering brought an amused smirk to her husband's face, as it often did, and she felt some satisfaction at his narrowing eyes at her comment about his hair. She stared at him challengingly.

"Just open the letter," he pleaded, his tone a bit strangled as he worked to keep it from sounding less like a command and more like a request.

Keeping her eyes on his, she broke the seal of the letter, her anger a product of her fear of being found wanting. She made a show of unfolding the paper before finally looking down and stopping short.

It wasn't the lovely, dainty writing of her dear friend's hand, but the bold, short strokes of her husband's.

Her eyes flew to his face, her gaze questioning.

"Verity _does_ want to write to you, and you should be able to write to her, all without my interference. I want you to be free from having to rely on me, to be free to speak in your own voice, in that distinctly wonderful Demelza way of saying things," he explained. "But I admit to selfishly wanting the first letter you read to be from me."

The anger drained from her body as an overwhelming feeling of love and safety pervaded. Her eyes fell to the page, her heart warming as she noted how distinctly and clearly he had written each word, trying to make it as easy on her as possible.

"And," he continued, "I want the first letter you write to be to me."

Her lips pressed tightly together, her eyes once again moving to his face, as her uncertainty battled within in her.

"I know you refuse to write for fear that others will mock your spelling or laugh at your penmanship," he said gently, "But you can write to me for practice, and I will help you, and you can know that I will read each word with pride."

The letters on the page blurred, her eyes growing glassy, as she felt his hand reach across the table to take hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. "It's time Demelza. You can do it."

Using the sleeve of her dress she wiped her eyes, taking a shaky breath before clearing her throat and slowly began sounding out the first letters on the page.

_"My d-ear-est Demelza"_

She read allowed, her name coming easily, since she had practiced that one often. Her hand still gripped tightly to his, she blushed at the proud grin he gave her before picking up his spoon and beginning to eat again, indicating for her to continue.

_"I th-ank the L-or-d ev-er-i—"_

"Every," Ross correctly kindly.

_"—every d-a-y for br-in-g—"_

She stumbled, her embarrassment blossoming on her cheeks, but Ross merely nodded at her encouragingly.

_"—bring-ing you in-to my l-if…life."_

"Well done!" he gushed, both now smiling at her success. "Read on."

With renewed delight she did just that.

**Thanks for reading!**


End file.
